Two is a Lie(52)

“How’s that?”

“I’m nude, and you’re fully clothed. That’s not how this works.” In a blink, he flips us, sending me to my back with his weight on top of me. “Your turn to come.”

He clutches the hem of my shirt and pulls it upward. With his naked body between my legs and his handsome face staring down at me, I quiver on the cusp of saying fuck it all. The pounding, clamping heartbeat between my legs demands to be stroked and stretched by his huge, hungry, still-hard cock.

But there’s another man across town, alone with his uncertainty and no doubt missing me at this very moment. Trace’s feelings are so deeply woven through my heart I tense at the thought of hurting him.

Guilt seeps in, twisting me up. Am I betraying him? I don’t know. I’m dating both of them.

“Danni?”

I hide my confusion behind a wide smile. “We’re all covered in come. I call dibs on the shower.” Pushing him off me, I race out of the basement, shouting, “You can wash up when I’m finished. I’ll be quick.”

I fly up the stairs and sprint into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as the door slams behind me. My stomach hurts, and my heart curses me for running headlong into lust-induced spontaneity without thinking it through.

Fighting back my tears, I move mechanically beneath the spray of water. Shampoo, rinse, I don’t let myself dwell on what happened as I reach for the conditioner.

The bathroom door opens.

Footsteps pace back and forth in the small space, and I turn to face the wall, shoulders hunching. He must know I’m upset or he wouldn’t have barged in here. I hug my waist, waiting for him to either yank open the shower curtain or say something.

He does both, sending the metal hooks squealing along the tension rod. “Don’t you dare shut me out.”

“I’m naked.”

“I see that.” His feet squeak on the bottom of the tub as he steps in, and the heat of his body smothers my back.

“Cole—”

“Danni.” He touches the shampoo bottle, seemingly making an effort not to brush any part of himself against me in the small space. “Do you still need to wash your hair?”

I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

He moves his hand to the conditioner and waits.

I nod.

For the next few minutes, he focuses on massaging the cream rinse through my waist-length strands. He doesn’t rub up against me or ask me why I’m all wooden and sullen. He’s giving me time to open up on my own before he starts growling and pushing. It’s like he knows I need a breath—or a hundred breaths—before speaking because I’m on the verge of crying.

When he shifts away to wash his own hair and soap his body, I drag in gulping drafts of air.

Am I’m putting too much thought and worry into this arrangement? Maybe all the helplessness and confusion I feel is just part of my path? Instead of running from my feelings, I should try to figure out what they’re telling me. The answer’s inside me. It has to be. I just need to breathe and remember I’m not alone. I can talk to them. They might not like what I’m thinking, but they’ll always listen.

“Am I being a pain in the ass?” I glance over my shoulder, just as he runs suds over his erection. My breath hitches, and I look away. “Am I making this more complicated than it is?”

“I can’t read your mind.” He sets the soap on the ledge and faces me with a hand on the wall. “But I can guess this has to do with him.”

“I feel like I’m cheating.” I pivot toward him and lean my back against the tiles with my arms at my sides. “Right now, being naked with you feels like betrayal. And when I’m with him, I feel the same. Like I’m cheating on you.”

His eyes taper, and his brows pull in and release. Instead of telling me to just choose him, he gives me the response I need the most. “I understand.”

He slides a knuckle under my chin, dipping lower to follow the line of my neck, then lower still, down my chest and pausing to graze my nipple. My breasts feel fuller, tighter, and my pulse picks up.

He hasn’t seen me naked in over four years, so I forgive his sudden detour from the conversation and hold still while he looks.

Opening his hand, he molds his fingers around my breast, testing the weight, kneading the flesh. His nostrils go wide, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re as perfect as I remember.”

“So are you.” I trace the outline of his bicep and touch his pouty lips, smiling softly.

As his gaze begins to descend below my waist, he sucks in a breath and snaps his head up, fastening his eyes on mine. “You’re not cheating.”